


Hope is the thing with feathers

by becauseitwasreal



Series: Game of Thrones oneshots [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Introspection, Sandor Needs a Hug, Sandor is pining, Sandor-centric, Sansa is sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 22:33:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15543588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becauseitwasreal/pseuds/becauseitwasreal
Summary: Sandor has followed Jon Snow back to Winterfell, and Sansa has something to tell him. [post-S7 oneshot]





	Hope is the thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> "Hope is the thing with feathers -  
> That perches in the soul -  
> And sings the tune without the words -  
> And never stops - at all" - Emily Dickinson
> 
> [I don't own anything]

                Sandor’s breath caught when he saw _her_. He had known to expect her, of course. The Tarth lady had told him both of the Stark girls had been returned to Winterfell. And yet she still managed to knock him off his feet. Last time he had seen her she was a mere girl. Now she was a woman grown, a true Lady. Such a difference from her little sister, who was as much a lady as he was a knight. No, the title Lady of Winterfell suited Sansa. She looked as if she was made to do this, and yet he could see that she had outgrown the songs she had liked so well. She spoke as regally as ever, but her eyes held fear nor admiration as she beheld her bastard brother and the Dragon Queen. Her eyes were colder an harder than he remembered, and he knew then that time had not been kind to her. She had learned, his little bird, and the road of learning is always paved by pain. She was no less beautiful for it.

                She didn’t see him, not yet, and he didn’t know if he feared her gaze or longed for it. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. He wondered if Tarth had told her about killing him – he wondered if Sansa Stark had thought him dead. He immediately dismissed the thought. What reason would Brienne have had to speak of that, if she ever truly spoke to her Lady at all. It was perhaps more likely that the little wolf had blabbed or boasted about leaving him to die, but even so… She probably hadn’t spared him a single thought in the last couple of years. Not in the way he had thought about her anyway. If she would know what had been in his mind, she would never speak to him again. Seven Hells, he even reproached himself for it, and he wasn’t a man unused to his own darker thoughts.

                “The fight in the North is what is of most dire importance now, my lords. While we squabble amongst ourselves, the dead are coming, and once they come, it doesn’t matter who rules from the capital,” the Lady concluded. She had a way with words that far surpassed her brother’s. In truth, he had been stupid, bending the knee to the Dragon Queen while he was miles away from his bannermen, and what he did in the pit… No, this one wasn’t born with a head on his head, even if his heart was in the right place. Noble and all, but precisely what had gotten his father killed. From the look on Sansa’s face, she was remembering too. Remembering and learning. He felt a swell of pride in his chest for both of the girls. They had survived this far, and he hope by the gods that they would survive the coming winter. Sometimes he wished the flames would show him something other than doom, but it was not to be. All he was shown was misery and darkness. Snow and fire. Somewhere in his heart he had always known that that was how it would end for him, but he didn’t want that for the Stark girls. He didn’t even want it for the world.  

                Sansa stood first, and left the room alongside her brother and sister. Even if the two dragons flying above Winterfell didn’t please the men too well, Sansa’s words seemed to have appeased the bannermen a little. At least the dragons were on their side now. Sandor shuddered as he thought of the burning wights, and was all too glad to be on the right side too. He had heard of what happened to the Lannister army, about what happened to the Tarlys. A horrible way to go. He really hoped that this new queen wouldn’t turn out to be like her father, or he would be as tempted as Jaime Lannister was to put a sword through her back.

 

                He didn’t see her again until dinner. She was sitting at the same place as she had that afternoon, the table where they had all been sat the first time he had laid eyes on her. He hadn’t thought much of her then, just as he hadn’t thought much of her entire family. All stupid little wolves. The women had surely been cleverer than the men, though, and he only hoped that Jon fucking Snow wouldn’t do something stupid to get his sisters killed the way Robb got his mother killed.

                Tarth, who was sitting on his right, was telling him something about the training of the young boys and girls, but he wasn’t paying attention. Sansa’s gaze had found his, and he managed what he hoped was a smile. She didn’t smile in return, but looked rather puzzled. He saw her bend a little towards her brother and asking a question. She didn’t know why he was here, then. Her brother probably hadn’t told her much of what had been going on, and who had been the ones fighting with him.

                “Sandor?” Brienne asked. “She won’t disappear if you stop staring at her for a minute. It’s unnerving.”

                He growled, but directed his attention to the maid next to him again. _There is time_ , he told himself. _There is time_.

 

                In the end, it was the girl who caught him in the hallway, and not the other way around. He had just been about to go off to bed after a particularly gruelling training session – Tarth was good, but he didn’t intend to be beaten by her again – when she had cornered him and asked him to accompany her to the godswood.

                “What would your brother say?” he asked her, before she boldly took his arm. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t feel a warmth spreading through his body at her simple touch. When was the last time someone had touched him like that willingly?

                “My brother had important matters to attend to.”

                _Important my ass_ , Sandor thought. Everyone who had been on that ship new what had transpired between Snow and his freshly chosen queen. Still, he supposed he couldn’t blame the lad. If it was him who’d spend years with the Night’s Watch he’d need a good fuck too.

                “I heard you fought bravely with my brother and his men.”

                He huffed. “Still chirping your little songs then, little bird.”

                “Jon speaks highly of you.”

                “He didn’t tell you what actually happened then,” Sandor said. “How I couldn’t –” His mouth dried as he thought of Thoros, charging at the burning bear with his flaming sword. He surely would have died back there if it hadn’t been for Thoros of Myr, and he hadn’t even found it in him to thank the man. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve that. Was it because he was able to see in the fire too, or was it because perhaps Thoros considered him a friend, a companion? He surely didn’t consider Thoros as one right before he had been charging that bear, but he hadn’t hated him either. Perhaps the man simply thought he was doing the right thing. Sandor doubted if it had been every day.

                “Sandor?” Sansa squeezed his arm lightly, and gave him a concerned look.

                He signed, unable to meet her eyes properly. “A man died in my stead. There was a bear. And it –” He closed his eyes, cursing himself that even the thought was able to unnerve him like this. “It was on fire.”

                “I heard you saved Tormund.”

                “That didn’t bring Thoros back to life.”

                She halted them, and grabbed both his arms. “It’s not your fault.”

                He almost wanted to smile. “I know. It was his choice to do something that stupid. He could have just let me die.” Sansa looked as if she was about to argue with him, but he shook his head. “You weren’t there, little bird. I turned craven. You should know by now that I always do.”

                “You’re not a coward for knowing fear, Sandor Clegane. Only morons don’t fear anything.”

                He didn’t argue. How could he explain to the girl next to him that it was more than fear. That it was paralysing, crippling, and that he didn’t know how was going to fight a fucking war with two dragons scorching the planes. He didn’t want her to understand what that kind of fear was like. Not now, not ever.

                “I’ve thought about that night for many moons,” Sansa suddenly spoke. “I should have gone with you.”

                “You would have been a fool,” he said. “I had nothing to offer you.”

                “You would have kept me safe. You never would have sold me to the Boltons.”

                “I was ready to sell your sister.”

                “To her _family_. You would never have given me to Ramsay.”

                “Aye, that I wouldn’t have.” But I would have taken so much more. Who’s to say I wouldn’t have taken you for myself? She said down on a broken tree, and he followed her lead.

                “You taught me a lot, you know. I’m not sure I’m much of a little bird anymore.” She looked up at him, smiling.

                He shook his head. “I can see you learned a lot, but I don’t deserve any of the credit. All that I could possibly have taught you is fear.” She looked beautiful in the moonlight, and not for the first time he wished he could kiss her. He had half a mind to do so, if he wasn’t certain her Lord Brother would have his head. _Brienne_ would have his head.

                “You taught me more than that. And I thank you for it.” She leaned towards him, and pressed a kiss on his burned cheek. “You were there when no one else was.”

                “I only –”

                “Don’t argue,” she said. “Just enjoy the evening. It’s beautiful.”

                He stared at her, incredulous. When he finally found his bed, he didn’t dream of the fire. He didn’t dream of his brother, and he didn’t see Thoros’s final breaths or his flaming sword. Instead, he dreamed of _her_. Her flaming hair, her smile. He saw her happy. _Maybe Beric was right_ , he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he was not beyond all hope.


End file.
